


February of 1812

by demon_ducks (uruhead)



Series: Ghoul Grumps AU [2]
Category: Game Grumps, Youtube RPF
Genre: F/M, Ghoul Grumps, Sirens, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uruhead/pseuds/demon_ducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>February of 1812 was a weird one. Napoleon was doing his thing, Charles Dickens was born, and Dan was getting busy with a Spanish siren on the coast of France.</p>
<p>Vampire!Dan/Ghoul Grumps!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	February of 1812

The real beginning of life for Dan was when he was 24 in 1812 on a brisk, February evening on the border of France near the sea. (Danny prides himself on being able to say that he was alive when the metric system was being invented by Napoleon, even though he remembers watching the French soldiers walking home from war without fingers, toes, legs, and lives.)

It was the first time he had ever seen a siren.

The young girl waved at him from the edge, bare-breasted and bright-eyed. Her hair was wet, her legs in the water, looking like she was having the time of her life even if the edges of the sea looked colder than a witch's tit and the sun had long since set.

“ _Fille! Qu'est-ce que tu fais?”_ Girl! What are you doing?

“ _¿Habla español, señor?”_

_Shit_. Dan wasn't even good at French. Spanish was even further off his radar. He hadn't been that far south.

“ _Un poco, niña. ¿Qué haces?”_ A little, girl. What do you do?

She made two movements with her arms and giggled. One was obviously a wave for him to come closer, the second was a brash attempt at a breast stroke. _“Yo nado. Ven, ven!”_

Dan couldn't resist.

He stumbled down the cliff side where the rounded rocks were wet from the surf and watched as the woman stood up on wobbly feet – very, _very_ obviously nude with her dark hair curling around her shoulders and her underwear no where to be seen – before jumping into the water with a melodic squeal.

Spanish girls. Dan shivered.

He was pulling on his scarf to get it off when she popped out of the water only few feet away. Her curves shimmered in the moonlight, pushing her hair back. She looked like she was supposed to be painted by Rembrandt or Johannes Vermeer. _Girl with the Pearl Earring_ , Dan thought to himself. He wondered what she would look like clothed, though this was already such a beautiful portrait.

It was like getting punched in the gut when she swung her hips and made eye contact. Her eyelashes had sea water on them, clinging for dear life like dew on a spider web. His heart beat a little faster. Was this love?

“Do you speak English?” he gasped.

“Yes, a little.”

Her voice was rich but sounded like when a sea wave crashed into a cavern, worn and old and tinny. He drew closer to the surf where she stood.

“You are beautiful, do you know that?” Dan grinned.

“Of course I do,” she flicked her hair over her shoulder, eyes coyly glancing down at the beach. “So many men tell me, it's hard not to believe.”

“It's true! You're absolutely...”

His foot touched the water and he jumped back. Dan's eyes looked down at the chilly water, then back up at her. He was drawn between self preservation and his _other_ base instinct (which more recently he would call _Excalibur_ ).

“Do you want to swim?” she asked. Her hands reached out and she took a step back.

“Isn't it cold?” Danny wrapped his arms around himself. He was already getting cold from dipping his toe in the water.

“It's not so bad. I'll keep you warm.”

She winked.

He was a goner.

Brian would repeatedly scold him when he retold the story of how he stripped and ran into the surf with a sea witch, made out with her, and then almost drowned.

He was clawing desperately up the rock, nails scratching, gulping down air and coughing up sea water. The siren wrapped her hands around his ankles and was tugging with a strength unbeknownst to him before that moment; he had determination on his side, however. He pulled himself out of the water and threw himself near the center, tucking his legs in. The water was a lot colder now that the Spanish siren wasn't next to him.

She popped out of the water, eyes dark with some intense emotion, probably what some poets would call _the chase_ but Dan wasn't thinking about his literature education, instead scrambling for the nearest loose rock, holding it up defensively as if he were going to throw it at her.

She flinched. He hesitated, looking scared _for_ her rather than _of_ her.

He dropped the rock as if it were burning him. “I'm sorry,” he gasped. He coughed again harshly, spitting up sea water.

Could he hurt someone? Something? He could hardly watch the butcher when he was doing his _job_ , seeing those cute pigs going to slaughter. Even this “monster” that was trying to hurt him, who tricked him into a false sense of security...

“I'm sorry,” Dan said to particularly no one.

“What?”

Dan looked up. The siren was on her arms, trying to climb onto the rock but paused half-way through.

“I'm sorry,” Dan repeated. “I'm... I didn't mean to scare you. I mean – I don't want to hit you. I know you're trying to kill me, but I...”

She waited a second. A wave came back and knocked Dan forward into the sea, pushing him head-first below the blackish-green waters. He had never been able to open his eyes beneath the water, always too sensitive. Now it was all around him, barraging him in all of his senses. Too cold, too heavy, too salty.

 

 

(“It was like... It was like listening to _Where's the Orchestra_ by Billy Joel while in a viewing tank for the polar bear exhibit. The polar bear jumps in. There are bubbles everywhere. It's wet, it's echo-y. It's dark, it feels like there should be some menacing music – something, like, epic, but no. It's nothing. It's rushing water. It's your heartbeat.”

“You should've really become a cinematographer with visuals like that. A director, something.”

“I was alive in the age of Steven Kubrick and Alfred Hitchcock, dear Scuze, but that is a different story for a different time.”)

 

 

He opened his eyes, sputtering and choking. The siren's mouth was on his, her breath pushing through his lungs and making his chest hurt. She pulled back, and cupped his head.

He puked on the beach to get the rest of the water out of his stomach, but he never mentions that in his retellings. (Brian always does.)

“You apologized,” the siren deadpanned. The sea was so loud. Her tail was slippery and felt like wax. “Why did you apologize?”

“I am sorry, that's why!” Dan croaked. “I didn't want to hurt you, or scare you. It doesn't feel right. I don't want to hurt anyone.”

She began laughing, covering her face with one hand and _really_ laughing. She snorted a couple of times. It made Dan shrink back, wondering what she would do next. If he really needed to, he could run, but...

“I-I was trying to drown you, and you didn't defend yourself at all... you apologized..!”

Eyes wide, he sat up and squirmed. “What's so funny about that?”

The siren shook her head. She pushed her hair behind her, fingers running through the tangles on top to pull it out of her face. Her smile was bright and sweet, eyes intrigued but happy, both glittering in the strong moonlight. It had to be midnight by now.

“My name is Leucosia. You can call me Luca.”

 

 

“You made friends with a siren,” Suzy huffed. “Did you sing with her?”

“Of course I did! That girl was only about 60 when I met her.” Dan was wrapped up in a blanket, tea cupped in his hands. He looked cozy and ready to fall asleep; just about time as well, since it was near 5 in the morning.

“How long do sirens typically live?” Suzy asked.

“She passed back in the '50s, so I guess about 200 years. Maybe. My math isn't that great. Luca had a daughter, however – Telea, her name is. I still talk to her every once in a while. She lives on the coast of Morocco, sometimes sends me a post card. I'm sure I still have one or two in my storage unit, along with a picture!”

Suzy laughed, spilling her water on the floor and scaring the cats. He was such an old man.

(Dan wouldn't tell her, but Luca and Suzy were _very_ similar, and it made him smile somewhere deep in his heart.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://uruhead.tumblr.com>my%20tumblr!</a>%20I'm%20always%20taking%20requests%20&%20always%20open%20to%20conversations.%20c:)


End file.
